COTCOD VOL 53 - HOLY SHIT
by saruviel
Summary: Chronicles of the Children of Destiny Volume Fifty-three - Holy Shit. BEWARE!


THE 144 - WORLD 21 - HOLY SHIT

Holy Shit (aka The Cross)

By

Don Brown

(aka Danny 'The Devil' Daly)

WARNING:

Extreme Graphic Language. X-Rated. Sodomy, Paedophila & Other Explicit Sexual Language Utilized. A lot of fowl language.

DO NOT READ if easily offended. You have been warned.

Dedicated to Adam Lambert & Dan Brown – Bwah ha ha har

Chapter One

Alf Lambert looked at the Altar Boy. He was young – 13. He looked fine. He sat down next to him, whipped out his cock, and said 'Yo. Your Father Scumbag's favourite, aren't you?'

The Altar boy turned, looked at Alf, and down at his protruding erection. 'So you want your cock sucked, you old faggot.'

'You guessed it,' said Alf.

'You got any cash?' asked the lad.

'Father Scumbag never mentioned any cashola requirements.'

'Oh. We all love Father Scumbag. His erections are spectacular. But you've only got about 7 inches there. Nothing compared to Father's nine inch nail.'

'I get by,' said Alf.

The Altar boy looked at the erect phallus, shrugged, and missed the bells as the mass proceeded, while he sucked 45 year old cock joyfully, the climax belting down his throat, before he returned to the service, sung his alleluias, and carefully counted the 5 $100 dollar bills the old fart had given him.

Peter Fletcher was agreed upon by all true Catholic Heretics as being the 4th member of the Divine Godhead. Peter had declared it – insane idiots had believed it – and The Roman Catholic Church of True Universal Glory had been borne, with Peter God incarnate, the Rock himself, ready to convert all to the way of the 'Fletch'.

Alf Lambert was a distinguished member of the 'Church of Universal Glory', which was its shortened name, and had met 'The Fletch' from time to time in his various pilgrimages to the 'Vutican' in Roma.

Alf Lambert took his Catholic faith seriously – like any true Catholic Priest he delighted in fucking Altar Boys up the Anus, raping nuns which had been made available for sodomy and other purposes, deflowering sheep of various breeds which the Kiwi members of the fraternity recommended, and, of course, indulging in all drugs of all sorts, including 'Hype', 'Fuck' and 'Wank', which were amongst his favourite intoxicants.

Alf had a rare first print of 'The Divine Word of the redeemer Fletch' on the mantelpiece of his home in southern Manhattan, read it time from time, and still declared he had yet to master full understanding of Fletch 1:1, which read 'I know nothing about nothing.' True wisdom from the Fletch – true unfathomable wisdom.

Of course, ironically, Fletch 1:2 read 'But fuck education anyway. Academics are a bunch of gay wankers who wouldn't know a pussy if it landed on their faces.'

Alf enjoyed the divine word of the Fletch, practiced much indulgence in reading the text in true Catholic style, and was well on his way, so he hoped, of becoming an eventual priest in the order of 'Divine Bastards', founded by Fletchers main Apostle, Aaron Goodsell, the High Priest of the Redeemer.

It was a day most ordinary, in fact pathetically ordinary Alf had declared that morning, looking at the grey skies, hoping to all fuck the day would cheer up, when Alf received a knock on his door, and found a letter presented to him from a delivery service.

He went back inside, picked up his ornate letter opener, and opened the letter, finding a note on white A4 paper, with words cut out from newspapers on it.

It read: 'Listen, cunt. Return my fucking DVDs, or I'll come by, throw a brick through your fucking window, and dump trash on your lawn. Signed your fucking beloved. PS. You won't trace this. I used newspaper cuttings.'

Dumbass bitch, Alf thought to himself. Of course she used newspaper cuttings. Did he look like an idiot?

He went into his room, found the secret stash of X rated Gay DVDs, went into the other room and put them on the bed. Hayley, sitting at her desk, looked at the DVDs. 'About fucking time, bastard.'

'Have your fucking DVDs, Cunt.' She almost smiled at him.

Alf looked at the gay magazine. 'You know, Haymaker. I don't get the rush I once got on this shit.'

Hayley, who was looking the idiot box, didn't speak. But she turned to him after a while. 'Lord Fletch spoke on these truths. Sin has only so much persuasion, so much power, so much passion. At the bottom of the barrel, when the river runs dry, the rush is gone, and you just call yourself a fucking sinner.'

'It don't work, then.'

'Never did,' she responded, returning her gaze to the TV.

He left the magazine, and came and sat down next to her. 'Then why the fuck is everyone so fucking obsessed with the pleasures of the Flesh which Jesus fucking Christ no longer objects to.'

'I've read his shit. He comments on some Noahide theology,' she began, not taking her eyes off the screen. 'For the new generation – the world to come generation – it is time to find our sins before they find us. To allow them to breed, to corrupt us, to conquer us, to devour us, to have completely and utterly their wicked way. And if you must, fornicate with whatever it is you must.'

'And then?' queried Alf Lambert.

She turned to him. 'Then the rush is over, the sinful impulse has done its final wicked deeds and life, as they say it, goes on.'

'We get the fuck over it, then,' he said honestly.

'Apparently something like that,' she replied. 'Noah talks this shit all the time. Why he raises the rainbow flag, fucks unicorns if he wants to, and doesn't give a shit. We are getting 6 thousand years of sanctification off our chest, before we get stuck into serious religion once again.'

'And what is that religion?'

'You know,' she responded. 'Feeding orphans. Taking care of widows. Loving our neighbour as ourself. Supposedly we grow up in the end – get over it.'

Alf looked at her, and went back to the gay magazines. Was that it then? The end of his sexual addictions? Even bestiality had lost its recent pleasures. The rush was gone, now. The tingling was no more. He had used it all up – used up all his pleasure points. The beast was dying, and the only thing left was not so much guilt, but regret over being such a wanker about it all. Fucking around, losing whatever reputation he had left, losing the respect of the older, more serious catholic community, simply to go with the flow, and not give a fucking damn.

But a little voice in his heart said, 'They will forgive you in the end anyway, you dumb fuck, so let the party rock on, and don't give a shit until you have had your fill.'

And Alf returned to his magazines, did the deed, and came next to his woman, offered a handful of creamy come, and she sucked it, and they fucked. And it was good.

Chapter Two

'Chemosh. Chemosh. Chemosh.' The chant continued, as the acolytes of a forbidden Canaanite deity proceeded across the floor of the Vutican, chanting to one of Lord Fletchers favourite deities, Chemosh the proud.

Alf watched as the processional of browned robe masturbators, for which Chemoshians were well famous, went through the intricate patterns of procession over the main courtyard of the Vutican, all in a dedication of summoning the presence of blessed Lord Chemosh. Baal himself was invoked by the head of the processional, in hushed tones, for the Lord of Canaan always gained the most glory in their praises, even more than the bull god Elohim, which the Lord Fletcher himself worshipped.

Alf, sitting with Father Obsequious, gathered his wits about him, and looked directly into the father's eyes. 'A mission from God? I am called on a mission from God?'

'The Christ Child, the second member of the blessed Quaternity, is suffering under the curse of separation from his Cross of Glory.'

'And what is that Cross of Glory?' queried Alf.

'Why, uh, the Cross. The Fucking Cross. You know, the sticks he was crucified on,' responded the priest.'

'Oh right, that cross of glory,' responded Alf.

'Yes. Now, as I was saying, the Christ Child, the second member of the Quaternity, must be reconciled to his beloved Salvation, and that is were we have a mission from you, dear old Alf.'

'Shoot,' said Alf.

The priest looked confused. 'Shoot? Shoot up? You want me to do drugs? Well it's a little early in the afternoon, but if you insist.'

'Fuck,' said Alf to himself, shaking his head. Were all of Fletcher's idiots this stupid.

'Look, spill the beans?' continued Alf, and corrected himself immediately as another confused look broached the face of the father. 'I mean, tell me what the mission is.'

'Oh, the mission.' The priest looked relieved.

'For fuck's sake,' swore Alf under his breath.

'Well, its pretty simple, Alf. Really, it couldn't be simpler. Funds. We require cashola. Lots of it. The Lord Fletchers various addictions cost quite a bit, you know. And keeping the Italian police quiet about the various sex slaves costs a fair bit in bribes. So we need cash.'

'And how do we get the cash?' asked Alf.

'We flog of the Cross.'

Alf looked at him, confused. 'The cross? To who? And were do we fucking get it?'

'Well, I can answer both those questions. Firstly, we get it from 'The Legion of Roma'. They have had it for the last 2000 years.'

'And who the fuck are they?'

'Noahide heretics. An ancient legion of Roma which was in bed with an heretical member of the Sanhedrin, who taught them Noahide faith. The legion took the cross after Jesus was crucified, and hid it away in their keep in Asia Minor.'

The mind of the symbologist ticked over. Asia Minor – an ancient name for the Turkish region. Were the book of Revelation originated, and the 7 churches of the 7 angels.

'Were in Asia Minor?' he asked.

'That is up to you. We know of your prowess. All to well the Lord Fletch has witnessed you cracking the Michaelangelo code, and saving us from the Demons and Angels, as well as finding the Missing Symbol. Your stature is quite impressive in the church these days. You won't let us down. Now, as to who, why nobody else than the Christ Child himself. We are sure, quite sure, old JC will want his most highly prized symbols at his beck and call. In fact, we are counting on it.'

All nodded. 'I know someone,' he responded. 'Langdon. He might have the information I need.'

'Robert Langdon, you mean?'

'An old acquaintance. He doesn't normally dabble around with the darker side of Catholicism, but we have had the odd acquaintance over a beer on the south side.'

'Then contact your Robert Langdon and be off with you,' said the priest dramatically.

Alf stared at him. 'Yep. Ok,' He got to his feet, looked at the priest who had returned to his crocheting an image of the Lord Fletch, and hightailed it out of there, past the Chemosh crew, down to his rented Alfa Romeo, and back to his hotel.

Langdon looked at the Rosary beads in Alf's hands. 'Not your style, is it Alf?' he queried, taking a sip of beer.

'Repentance is, technically, part of our way,' responded Alf quite seriously. 'It is encroached within the word under various sections. It is no fucking big deal, mate, in the words of the Fletch, but if we can hang some shit on Satan, and confess the big Kahuna did have a few bright ideas when he made us all, then the community is well and truly chuffed.'

'The Big Kahuna,' commented Robert Langdon. 'Quite an honourable expression you have there about the Supreme deity.'

'He is not as uptight as you think,' responded Alf. 'Knows what we are all like. Knows us well. Nothing we crap on about surprises him.'

'Illuminating,' responded Mr Langdon. 'So, what do you want to know?'

Alf placed an A4 printout down on the bar in front of them. There was a symbol on it – a Roman symbol, representing the Legion of Roma. 'These guys. Do you know were to find them? Apparently they are still around.'

Robert Langdon picked up the paper, and looked carefully at the symbol. 'It is the original one, if I am not mistaken. They used it until the era of Constantine, then changed it several times over the centuries. They went into a period of trying to hide all traces of their origins, and being a mystery cult. Worse than the Templars or any of the other older ones.'

'I don't need a history lesson. Geography pal.'

Robert Langdon looked at Alf, raised his glass to his mouth, took a sip, and put down the glass. 'I suppose, I could tell you. The information is not completely privy to those in the know, nor is it common knowledge. They ask for secrecy, for privacy, and the Vatican wishes it known to its elders that respect is important towards our Noahide brethren.'

Alf lit a cigarette, staring at Robert, smoked it for five minutes, thought of lighting another one, and excused himself to go to the toilet. When he came back Robert was gone, but there was a note on the bar. It had a phone number and it said 'Try this number. It should get you where you need to go. Bob.'

He paid his tab, stuffed the note in his overcoat pocket, lit another cigarette, and disappeared, out into the haze of the city, making his way downtown to his office, serving his Lord on his mission from God.

Chapter Three

Haymaker was, of all things she usually got up to, true to form, engaged in dildo masturbation, in front of a gay porno, her favourites, as Alf unlocked his office door, almost swore at the sight of her in the waiting room frigging off, and shook his head, continued on to his den, and sat down, staring at the phone number. Soon Hayley, after a few minutes of grunting and moaning, came in after a quick shower, and sat down in the spare chair. Alf was still staring at the note.

'What have you got there?' she asked him.

'A lead. On the mission.'

'The mission from God?' she asked him.

'That's the one,' he responded.

She picked up the jar of peanuts on the desk, started munching on them, and said 'Well what is it then?'

'A Phone number,' he responded.

'Are you going to ring it?' she asked him.

'I guess,' he responded. 'But, fuck. I don't know. Doing this. Flogging the thing off to Jesus himself. I mean, we are crap, and I don't give a shit about being a sinner, but isn't there a bottom dollar, in the end, even for us? Flogging the Cross of Christ to the Christ? How low can you go to make a buck?'

'Don't kid yourself,' she responded. 'I am sure you can go lower still. I know you too well.'

He stared daggers at her, but said 'Yeh. I suppose you do,' and picked up his landline phone, punched the numbers, and waited.'

'Hello,' said a male voice shortly.

'Yeh. Hi. This is Alf. A friend of Langdon's. I am looking for information.'

The voice didn't speak for a while. Then 'Robert Langdon? You mean Robert Langdon?'

'That's the one,' responded Alf.

'Look, hold on for a sec. I know who you want.' The line went dead for a few minutes, and then a ladies voice answered.

'So, you are a friend of Misseur Langdon's.' The voice was French.

'As I said. I am looking for information. On the Legion of Roma. I was told you could help me.'

There was a bit of a laugh on the line for a moment, and then she continued.'

'Ah. Fucking hell,' she said. 'The Legion of Roma. Believe me, if it were not Robert who had given you my details, I would have told you to go to hell.'

'And why is that?'

'Because the bastards raped me, left me in a ditch to die, while executing my parents. I hate them, ok. I hate them.'

'Fuck,' swore Alf. 'Sorry to hear that. So you can find them?'

On the other end of the line the lady seemed to be considering that point.

'Yes. Maybe. But what can you offer me?'

Alf thought quick. 'How about a weekend of carnal pleasure with myself. I'll take you to a hotel. Put it on. Fuck your brains out.'

'Mmm,' said the lady, considering the point. 'And how big is ze penis?'

'Massive, lady. Fucking massive.'

'Very well,' she responded instantly, making up her mind. 'We shall fuck ze male prostitute, and find his fucking Legion of Roma.'

'Then let the adventure begin,' said Alf, grinning madly.

The blade was sharp. But Alf's bullshit was sharper. Much sharper.

'You better watch it, Kemosabe. I am a 49th level Dan in Karate.'

'That sounds deadly,' said the Noahide guard to the Legion of Roma Citadel, in upper lower Istanbul.

'Believe me. It is.' Jack waved his arms around in the air like Cato having a spas attack after Cluesoe, and the guard backed down.

'Come on Genevieve, the man has backed down.' They crossed the drawbridge, and entered the courtyard. The drawbridge, though, started rising up behind them, and the guard, who had come inside, said to them. 'I am sure our chieftain will be happy to see you. You have no way of escaping now, anyway.'

'Lead on then,' said Alf,' and the guard proceeded to lead the way across the courtyard, up some stairs, inside into the citadel, and began a long pathway down a series of interconnected stairways. At the bottom of the stairs the guard found the guard's toilet, went inside and took a piss, and returned to a perplexed looking Alf and Genevieve. 'Now we go upstairs,' said the guard, and Alf almost wanted to crucify him.

10 minutes later, they reached the uppermost level, and were presented to a man in a legionnaires outfit, sitting at a desk. 'Who are these,' the Legionnaire asked him.

'Your problem,' responded the guard, and disappeared.

Alf lit a cigarette, Genevieve did her best to look sultry in the fashion Alf had shortly grown accustomed to, and the legionnaire stared at them. 'Well, out with it,' said the legionnaire.'

'The Cross. You have it. We want it. We can offer you a bloody good price.'

The legionnaire stared at him. 'Go to hell. It's not for sale.'

Genevieve slammed her hands down on the legionnaires desk. 'Everything is for sale.'

The legionnaire glared at her. Looking at them, reaching a conclusion, he pushed a buzzer on his desk. 'Chieftain. We have some visitors. They want to make a purchase.'

'Send them in,' an Italian voice said.

The legionnaire indicated the door behind him, and Alf and Genevieve walked past him, opened the door, and came into another world.

Old mosaics. Scenes from time immemorial, and a Noah's Ark on the floor. A very elaborate one, very expertly made, very colourful, very authentic looking.

'Noah himself has seen it,' commented the Chieftain. 'Not long after the Resurrection. He knows of us and approves of our work. We are quite legit these days – believe me.'

'I'll bet,' said Alf, coming over to sit down opposite the chieftain.

Genevieve stared at him. She hated this man. She knew him. She remembered his face. He had been there, that night. It had not been him who had done the killing. In fact, from memories he had looked nervous, and wanted no part in the slayings, but it was him alright. One of the devil's legion.

The legionnaire looked at her. 'Is something wrong, Bella?' he asked her.

'No. Nothing is wrong,' she responded.

The chieftain looked at Alf. 'Your purchase? An item we have in our collection you have become aware of? We don't sell often, but if the price is right, even the Legion of Roma can accommodate a prospective client.'

'The cross,' responded Alf. JC's. 'How much?'

The legionnaire looked down at his notes, smiling to himself. An offer had finally come.

'Half a Billion. Half a BRITISH Billion. Nothing less.'

'500,000 Million Bucks. Even in the 22nd century that is a fuckload of cash, friend,' said Alf.

'Life is not cheap. Do you know the cost of Internet connections these days?'

Alf smiled. 'Sure. The price is fine. I will need it first. I have a buyer – a probable buyer – who in all likelihood can come up with the cash.'

'Then we won't bother with an advance, but we will place an attaché with you.' The chieftain pushed the buzzer. 'Rosetti. Come in.'

The legionnaire from the outer room shortly came in, bowed to his superior, and stood waiting.

'Give them the cross. Go with them. Secure the finances. Half a British Billion. Nothing less.'

The Legionnaire signalled hail to him, and left to the outer room.

'You can go now,' said the Chieftain. 'We have a deal.'

'As simple as fucking that,' thought Alf to himself, and stood, Genevieve in tow, and the two of them left to find the legionnaire at attention at his desk, looking at them.

'I will meet you in the carpark out the front of the citadel in about half an hour,' said the Legionnaire. The cross will be in a van with me driving it. I will follow it to were you need to go. I have visas for all of Eurasia and Africa. Are we going to the Americas?'

'No,' said Alf.

'Then where?' queried the legionnaire.

'Why. Hometown for you guys. The place it all began.'

'Roma,' said the legionnaire, and Alf nodded.

'The Eternal city,' said Genevieve,' and as they made there way out of the citadel, Genevieve looked at the sky, which had a blood red moon in the distance. An ominous sign, she thought to herself. An ominous portent of things to come.

Chapter Four

'A Billion fucking bucks!'

'Fornicating money. How interesting,' said Jesus of Nazareth, seated behind his Vatican desk, gazing upon the old ancient wooden relic.

'And that's a British bloody Billion as well. One Million Million bucks. Nothing more. Nothing less.'

The Christ Child stood, walked over to the cross, and poked it. 'Yes. Yes that is the beast. It seems so – so – familiar.'

'I will need time to consider your offer. It is quite expensive.'

'You can't afford it?' queried Alf.

'Its not that. I am not sure if I want to. To be reminded of it so intimately. I will consider your offer. Give me an email address and I will contact you if interested.'

Alf nodded, and Rosetti and two of the Vatican guards took the cross, and took it away back to Rosetti's van.

'So. You are the famed Alf Lambert. Member of Fletchers heretics,' stated Jesus honestly.

'You will understand the wisdom of the Fletch in the fullness of time,' responded Alf.

'Understanding the abomination of heresy? In the fullness of time? An interesting – idea.'

Jesus looked at Alf, and attempted a move. 'Perhaps you should consider returning to your true catholic roots. If that is what you were raised in.'

'Oh, yeh. Mummy and Daddy were diehard Catholics. I still remember those early Midnight Masses, and the hymns, and the chantings of the brothers. But God called me out of the darkness into the marvellous light of the Lord Fletch.'

'A practicing whoremonger, slave owner, confirmed Nazi, and torturer of unfortunate vermin,' responded Jesus sarcastically.

'And more besides,' said Alf under his breath. 'But, yes,' he continued. 'Lord Fletch is well known for his abominable virtues. It is what makes the Fletch the Fletch.'

'Indeed,' responded the Man from Nazareth.

'Well. Off with you then,' said Jesus dramatically. 'I have business to take care of.

Alf got to his feet, saluted the Christ Child, knowing nothing better to do, and was shortly escorted out of the Vatican, back to the Van and the waiting Genevieve and Rosetti.

'How did it go?' asked Genevieve.

'Well enough,' said Alf.

'Good,' said Rosetti. 'Well, they are bringing the cross down now. It should be here shortly. They just wanted to show it to a few of the Popes.'

Just then they heard some commotion coming from the streets and Alf looked out, saw a black van opening up and some hooded men with guns firing everywhere, killing the Vatican guards who were carrying the cross, taking the cross, putting it in their van, and taking off.

'After them,' yelled Rosetti. And the chase began.

It was a merry chase through the streets of Roma for a few hectic minutes. They dodged nuns, lovers on motorcycles, and wound through the dense streets of the city, Rosetti occasionally shooting at the van, but it turned down a back street, and a truck pulled out in front of it and slammed on its breaks when their van was about to hit it, just before colliding head on with it. The Italian man got out of his truck and started swearing at them, and it took Rosetti five minutes to calm him down enough and move his truck to resume the pursuit, by which time the Black van had well and truly gotten away.

'What do we do now?' swore Rosetti.

'Fuck ourselves,' responded Alf.

'Right,' said Genevieve.

Rosetti's anus was nice and tight, and the actual fucking of it was quite a delight to Alf Lambert, confirmed Paedophile, Bisexual, occasional Animal fucker, and all round pervert. But Rosetti was relatively new to the scene, yet Alf was sure he had a convert.

Genevieve, who was in front of Rosetti, with Alf behind him in the bedroom, fucking his arse, was in front of Rosetti, totally naked, on her knees, sucking his large testicles and hot cock.

'Oh, fucking Madonna,' swore Rosetti, and exploded creamy cum down Genevieve's throat, who instantly stood, pashed Rosetti, and gave him a snowflake dream he would never forget. And then Alf exploded up the Roman's arse, and felt all the more relieved because of it. It was a dream of Sodom, and nobody was complaining.

Later on, Alf was looking at his e-mail. There was one from the Christ.

'Dear Alf. It is only a few minutes, but I have reached a conclusion. Yes, I will pay the money you require. The Cross is a symbol…

Just a second.

…

I am continuing this email a few hours later.

Well, as you know the cross was stolen. I have heard reports from various of my officials that it was likely 'Jihad', the extremist Muslim terror group, who have some operatives here in Roma. Reportedly, there are infiltrators in the Vatican, but I am unable to detect them.

Your problem now. Reclaim the cross, and you have your money.

Jesus.

Alf reread the email, and swore to himself. 'Jihad.' Muslim scum. The terrorist group from hell. More demented than Al Qaeda had been at their most evil. The worst of the fucking worst. Nobody stooped lower, not even the Lord Fletch, and that was saying something.

But extreme times call for extreme measures, he thought to himself. Extreme measures.

Chapter Five

'So there are four members in the divine Godhead.'

'Currently,' replied Alf. 'The Father, the Son, the Holy Spirit, and the Mighty Lord Fletch. Rumour has it, though, that Destiny has crafted out 19 eventual official members of the divine Godhead.'

'Destiny?' inquired Rosetti.

'The shaper of God's purposes,' replied Alf.

'Interesting,' said Rosetti.

'That is the prostitute,' said Rosetti, pointing to the Babylonian Harlot, all dressed in scarlett and purple, coming out of her abode, the red light up on the brick wall suddenly coming on.

'Very traditional, it seems,' responded Alf.

'A true whore of Babylon,' responded Rosetti.

Alf got out of the car, sidled over to the lady, and smiled out her. He knew a little Arabic, and tried his best.

'How much?'

'How much do you have?' she asked him.

He produced the amount he had been told, and she nodded, and beckoned him to follow her.

She went down on him with expertise. She circled her tongue around the head of his phallus, sucked slowly, and then suddenly bit quite sharply, not enough to leave marks, but quite tightly and looked at him and said 'Fuck me western bastard,' in heavily accented English.

He took her from behind, and grunted and grunted, and she turned her head, swearing at him, and he exploded in ecstasy into the finest Babylonian whore he had ever had the pleasure of.

Later, smoking a cigarette, she nodded. 'Yes. I know people. There is a Catholic priest downtown. Father Obnoxious. He is not really a Catholic, though. Not really. He is a front for Jihad, to infiltrate the church in their age long holy war. Father Obnoxious, though, can be something of a turncoat. He comes and fucks me regularly, and tells me all his dirty tales. You can't trust him, but he may give you the information you need for the right price.'

Alf handed over some more cash, and she smiled. 'So. You want me to blow you one last time?'

He nodded. And she did.

''Shema' is our real enemy. 'Shema' has always been our real enemy. The Christians are pesky, but those of Israel hate us with a passion.

Shema was the ultra right-wing fundamentalist Hasidic Orthodox Jewish group, which operated behind the scenes, in its war against Islam. 'Jihad's' mortal enemy was 'Shema' and vice versa.

'So why steal the cross?'

'Money. Money equals power, and weapons. It is how the world works after all. We can get quite q pretty penny for that old relic.'

'I guess so,' responded Alf, taking out a cigarette. 'Do you mind?' he asked the priest, indicating the cigarette.

'Go ahead. Nobody in this congregation will care about that.'

Father Obnoxious, whose choice of patriarchal title had been scoffed at originally by the Catholic hierarchy, but had finally persuaded them that true and brutal honesty was a Christian virtue and, because it was Babylon itself, the Monsignor approved the name, laughing all the time at the theology of honesty and the priest expressing, in his name, his most obvious personality trait, was quite an interesting personality. And truly obnoxious. He swore at Alf upon meeting him by saying 'What the fuck do you want in our congregation,' in Arabic, and when Alf translated in his head he smiled. His kind of Catholic priest.

'So you won't tell me, then.'

The Father looked at him. 'We have a new nun. She is 16 years old. She is a virgin. I have yet to persuade her to bed me. Take her, rape her if you must, and I will watch from the confessional box, and I will give you the information you need.'

Alf looked at him. Rape. Fuck. That was pretty intense. 'Won't the authorities complain?'

'Not about our church. They know our reputation. Nobody cares on this side of Baghdad.'

'Right,' said Alf, still uncertain. But, wanting the cash for the Cross to please his Lord Fletch, he finally nodded.

'I'll send her in,' said the Priest. 'Remember, put on a show, and the information will be yours.'

A little later, Sister Mary of the order of the Blessed Virtuous ones, was kneeling at the alter, when Alf grabbed her from behind, and put his hand onto her breasts.

'I. I am a nun,' she stammered.

'I like fucking whore nuns,' he said. The nun felt a flutter, then, in her vagina, but said nothing.

He turned her around and ripped off her front shirt and removed her bra. She didn't resist. He tongued her fine breasts, and put her down on the ground. And then, removing her skirt, and ripping down her knickers, he shoved his hardened manhood into her vagina, thrust and thrust and thrust into the tight divine glory hole, and exploded in the biggest orgasm of his life.

She was moaning then, and said to him. 'I think I had my first orgasm.'

He got up, put his pants back on, she stood. 'Can I go now, master. You have had your desires.'

He nodded, and the nun exited, returned to her room, and washed in the shower. And that night, after praying to God, she masturbated for the first time in her life, and thought she had been missing those feelings for so long, that chastity could go to hell.

Father Obnoxious provided him an address in an area south of Baghdad. But they first returned to their hotel room, deciding to go the following day.

They enjoyed some more sexual relations that night, and Alf was in high spirits. That was the first virgin he had ever deflowered – the first human female virgin. He had done sheep, and a few males for their first time, but never a female human. And he felt something of a link in his heart now, an attraction to the woman, a deep and carnal attraction.

Chapter Six

They arrived at the address early in the morning, and as they drove along a dirt track along the road, they arrived at a run down sewerage plant, with a terrible smell of shit everywhere in the air. 'Fuck,' swore Alf. 'He's done us like a dog's dinner.'

Genevieve looked around. 'He lied to us? Why?'

'The hooker warned me. Said he would fuck with me if he wanted to. And he did – literally.'

'So what now?' she asked him.

'We have another go. He is our only lead. Perhaps its just his idea of a practical joke. You know what they say. If at first you don't succeed.'

'Quit,' said Rosetti smartly.

'Very funny,' said Alf under his breath.

The Altar boy was another young one, only about 14 or 15 looking, and Alf had been cracking jokes about altar boys and priests, but the young lad wasn't biting.

And then Father Obnoxious finished the Mass, summoned some of the congregation, and they took Alf the Paedophile out the back, chained him to a stone pillar, and the priest took out a whip, and soundly whipped his back thrice.

'Take that scum. For flirting with our holy altar boys you have tasted the devil's wrath.'

Alf, gingerly, put his shirt back on after they released it, and looked at the priest with newfound hatred in his eyes. 'What the fuck is your problem, then?' he asked the priest, who laughed at him.

Just then, Sister Mary burst through, came over to Alf, and helped him over to a pew, with the congregation gradually dispersing.

'Mother of mercy. Father Obnoxious is evil, but I never thought he would do this.'

'He is Jihad, sweetie,' said Alf, feeling better about the nun's presence.

Father Obnoxious, staring at Alf, finally came over, took a small map out of his pocket, and wrote down an address on it. 'This is your contact. I have had my fun. Now fuck off Alf Lambert. Or the beating will be worse the second time.'

Sister Mary helped Alf out the church, and he noticed blood dripping from his back, but he said nothing. Hopefully the scarring wouldn't be too bad.

At the vehicle the nun looked into his eyes. 'I feel something for you, now, Alf Lambert. Don't forget me.'

He looked at her, made the sign of the Quaternity on her forehead, and smiled at her. 'May the Fletch be with you,' he said.

And she responded 'Amen.'

'The Holy Quaternity, of Father, Son, Holy Spirit, and the Mighty Lord Fletch, is an eternal, divine, and unfolding plan of the wisdom of God. Flowing from his throne is true grace, which allows forgiveness for the most carnal of sins, as we grow in grace and the knowledge of the Lord Fletch. And when, when our knowledge is complete, and we come to the ultimate truth that we know nothing about nothing, our lives will be perfect, and we will be like the Lord Fletcher in all ways, truly humble abominations.'

'I see,' said Rosetti. 'Humble Abominations.'

'Yes, the way of the Fletch,' responded Alf.

'And there are many adherents to this religion?' queried the Legionnaire.

'7000 churches approximately worldwide. Mostly decorated in Catholic style with our own twist, suitable to the fancies of the Lord Fletcher.'

'And recognition by the Trinitarian church?' Rosetti asked.

'Not required at this stage in the development of the movement. It is quoted that the fifth member will be Satan himself, and the sixth member the Archangel Michael, who both represent a symbol of duality between ultimate evil and ultimate good in the Godhead, warring principles, on which the mysteries of the carnal life and the holy life can be explained. With the sixth member, Michael, so it is taught in the divine mysteries, the Taoist religion will merge with our own, the next pathway onto ultimate religious unity and truth.'

'So you are ultimately ecumenist.'

'All religion is one in the end. Just ask the Bahai. The Lord Fletch represents brutal honesty and truth about human nature, and the holiness in following your natural sinful inclinations. But the Fletch, in his own words, is just a fucking bloke in the end, and it is only in the fifth member of the godhead, Satan himself, that ultimate evil can express itself in all its carnal desire.'

'Interesting theology,' said Rosetti.

'There are theologians who write this shit. I just read it,' said Alf.

'And you look for converts?'

'When we can get them Kemosabe,' responded Alf.

'Right,' said Rosetti, staring out the car window. 'Conversion to the Church of Universal Glory. Could his life destiny really be leading him down this pathway?'

'Oh, and we play fuckloads of basketball. The Mighty Lord Fletchers favourite sport. He is, after all, the Most Valuable Player and the Greatest of All Time.'

'He is?' inquired Rosetti.

'Indeed he is,' responded Alf, as they continued down the road.

'This is the place,' said Alf. The group looked on. A Mosque. A gunman out the front. Looking nastily out them. Alf grabbed his machine gun. 'Ready for Action Rosetti?'

'I was born fucking ready,' said Rosetti.

Genevieve had her pistol ready. 'Lets fuck some arse,' she said in her French accent.

Alf almost smiled at the statement.

Chapter Seven

Guns blazing, bullets firing, blood flowing, Jihad members hitting the dirt all over the place. Perhaps it was just fate, or the graces of the Lord Fletch himself, but despite going up against an armed force of several hundred, they managed to blast their way through all of them, reloading constantly, and find the final Jihad member, hiding behind the cross, cowering.

'Western scum,' said the Jihadist.

'Exactly,' said Alf, pointing his gun, and pulling the trigger.

Jesus Christ was happy, paid the Million Million dollars, had the beast displayed in the entrance of the Vatican, and as they returned to the Vutican, the van full of the equivalent cash in Italian Lira, they were in good moods. Success.

Father Obsequious particularly enjoyed the tales of Father Obnoxious, and said the description sounded familiar, and then, a rare privilege, in thanks for this mission complete, an audience with the Lord Fletcher himself.

They were ushered into his presence, were the redheaded warrior, draped in golden clothing, with several naked slave girls at his feet, worshipping him, glared at them, and then softened.

'Lambert.' He said boldly. 'Success old chap. Good fucking work.'

Lambert bowed. 'Thank you, your grace.'

'I have had my eye on you, Lambert. You could go far with the church. Destiny is a strange beast – it has many crooked and wicked pathways. Pathways, which a man of your obvious corruptness and true talent – could follow to our churches blessed glory. We will be in touch again, Lambert. Mark my words.'

Alf Lambert smiled. The Lord Fletchers favour was always something to behold.

'Now come forward, scumbag. Receive your blessing.'

The three of them came forward, and the Fletch rose from his throne, and looked skywards briefly.

And then the Lord Peter Fletcher, the holy and immaculate fourth member of the Divine Godhead of God's Eternal and Greater Glory, absolute ruler and authority over the Roman Catholic Church of True Universal Glory, decapitator of infidels, tyrant over pagans, master of heretics, sovereign over scumbags, losers and reprobates of all and various kinds, made the sign of the Quaternity and said 'May you be blessed in the Name of the Father, the Son, the Holy Spirit, and the Mighty Fletch. And Go in peace, to love and practice basketball.'

And Alf said 'Amen.'

The End

Holier Shit

By Don Brown

Aka Daniel 'The Loveable Devil' Daly

Dedicated to Dan Brown and Adam Lambert

Alf Lambert was not so fucking gay anymore. After the countless aeons of existence slowly, so slowly, the Mighty Fletch had gotten to him. Peter Fletcher, head of the True Universal Catholic Church of the Mighty Way of the Fletch, was a resoundingly devoted heterosexual. God created Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve, was one of the Fletcherism's which had, albeit slowly, caught on in the Church. The central idea of the theology was that the dick went in the cunt - Fletch kept it as simple as that. Alf found the theology, slowly - illuminating.

So, gradually, the altar boys began becoming less and less of an obsession until one day he walked in and looked at Haylie.

'Maybe I should fuck women only,' he said.

'Genius,' she responded, and came over, pulled down his pants, and blew his mind.

The prostitution, though - the hetero kind - took off after that in more copious cum-filled adventures than ever. If the 'Alfster' was going to fuck women, then, by Jehovah's Holy Testicles, he would shag a trillion of them. Alf did in fact assume that Jehovah had holy testicles, for he had met the theophany of God occasionally, and the man was one of the holiest beings, barring the Mighty Fletch, that he had ever met. And sometimes he even questioned if the Fletch could match him.

Fletch walked with Alf, the great Priest of the True Universal Church and, as the years passed by, Fletch taught him more of responsibility and raising his voluminous offspring in the fear of the Holy Quaternity. Alf did not flinch in his devotions.

Yes, Alf grew in holiness, and the Dick which had known more male anuses than Freddie Mercury and Elton John combined finally succumbed to the pleasures of the clitoris and the happiness of a tight pussy.

He was a changed man.

'The thing is, Alf, we are buggered if we know what to do next. Organisation Kaotica is devious, very bloody devious. And all in the name of hilarity, so they claim. Troublemakers, nothing more than that I tell you. A big fat pain in the butt.'

'I don't know,' responded Alf. 'Some of their classic heists make great news stories.'

'Advocating a sinners lifestyle?' queried Robert Langdon.

'I'm no saint,' responded Alf. 'The shit I have done in my time, for fuck's sake. Satan might even be jealous.'

'Law and order is the domain of a true Catholic's heart,' continued Robert. 'A long time ago some of us though the grace of Jesus was what it was all about. But after a long communion of faith in our church, the Vatican finally ruled Jesus, in point of fact, was not the Christ.'

'Yeh. Zerubbabel. I've read books on it. Probably right, as well. Fletch maintains Quaternity tradition, but acknowledges the point. Jesus works for me, but nah. He's not messiah.'

'Which is why,' continued Robert, 'That as faithful servants of God's Torah, the Holy Catholic church do not tolerate such actions as the stealing of the Temple Menorah which Kaotica have done. We have been paid a lot of money by the Sanhedrin to turn our resources also for the solving of the crime. And, as much as I might regret it, we could use you on the case also.'

'It's made of Eternya, isn't it?' queried Alf.

'Yes, I believe most things now are like that. Time has afforded such luxuries from God on that issue.'

'Then why worry. It will turn up in time.'

'Israel has a reputation to maintain. Terraphora Temple's missing Menorah is not exactly the reputation they want to maintain. It's the official Earth Menorah, after all. They esteem holiness, which will not change.'

'Humph. I wouldn't sweat it,' responded Alf.

'And if the Fletchers ancient basketball collection went missing?'

'Don't blaspheme,' said Alf. 'Fine. Ok. I get the point. Crucial for Catholicism. I'll look into it. You have an advance payment I take it?'

Robert almost glared at Alf, but handed over an envelope. 'Ten Billion. You solve the mystery, a full Googol.'

'Why so much? No, I understand. Very important to them.'

'Fundamental,' responded Langdon.

'Count on me,' responded Alf.

'We may have to,' said Robert, and took a sip of his lemonade.

'This is not a trivial matter, Alf. The holiness of God's sacred relics is fundamental to the faith of the community. Take it a bit more seriously, ok Alf. Try.'

'Will do,' saluted Alf.

When Robert left Alf looked at the cheque. 'Ten Billion Credits. Quite an advance. Lots of hookers with that. But solving the mystery. Where would he start? He had some contacts who might help, and Haylie knew a bit about Kaotica. He would go with that. But, for now, a lady tonight, and some putt putt golf for the weekend which he had promised himself. But soon enough, another mystery for the worlds biggest Dick. And watchout Kaotica - Alf Lambert would soon be right up your arse. Perhaps in more ways than one.

'The Fletch is hetero fucking sexual, ok,' said the Lord Peter Fletcher of the True Universal Catholic Church of the Mighty Way of the Fletch.

'Surrounded by faggots,' said Chris White mockingly.

'The Chemosh Crusaders are rather clean,' actually, said Peter reflectively. 'Good workers. Stable homos. They get the work done faithfully and true.'

'Your not put off,' queried Chris.

'They are truly an abomination to the Lord,' replied Peter. 'But fuckit, life goes on, and they have sworn eternal allegience to the congregation. They have vows sealed in blood, kapiche. Self flagulation is all the rage with the fuckers.'

'Fascinating. Real Catholics,' replied Chris.

'Amen,' said Peter.

'Anyway, Mamre Fellowship requests your audience at a gathering coming up. An international conference on the subject of religious diversity and the truthfulness of the Gospel message. Are you interested?'

'Busy,' replied the Fletch. 'Lambert has need of my presence for a while. He's on another fucking mission from God.'

'If you can make it, drop us a line,' said Chris.

'Gotcha,' replied Peter. And Chris was off.

Organsation Kaotica was on his mind that day. It seemed, that for the action the Mighty Fletch craved, the Lord had provided adversaries. And Organisation Kaotica were no pussies. Made Isis look like grandmothers. Alf Lambert had discussed with him Langdon's issues, and it was time for the Mighty Fletch to get involved with some Holy Shit for a change. His many concubines usually kept him busy enough, but sometimes a man had to take up the higher calling on his life. And confronting Organisation Kaotica sounded like the perfect opportunity to do that. It would be interesting, and maybe some heavy shit would come along to give him an opportunity to flex his muscles. But, for now, he was in a bit of a mood, and his favourite girl was beckoning him, and he couldn't ever resist a chick in a bikini with rather large appendages.


End file.
